


Spooky Centricide

by AllegedlyAlan



Category: Jreg, The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Halloween, Halloween2020, Homophobia, Horror but not scary, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, POW Camps, Period-Typical Homophobia, Vampires, WW1, WW2, Werewolves, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegedlyAlan/pseuds/AllegedlyAlan
Summary: A work dedicated to this year's Halloween. It's like Centricide, but there's not much political plot, instead it's just the characters being spooky, sad and very gay.Please keep in mind that there might be historical inaccuracies, as I tried to focus mainly on having fun and being creative, instead of doing lots of fact-checking.Each one has an angsty backstory.Happy Halloween!
Relationships: Nazi/Homofash, Nazi/Homonationalist
Comments: 38
Kudos: 25





	1. 1 - The old mansion

**Author's Note:**

> Human names:
> 
> Ilya Khrushchev - AuthLeft  
> Warren Zuckerberg - LibRight  
> Bernard Chomsky - LibLeft  
> Konrad Muller - AuthRight

It was around half past midnight when a light appeared in one of the old house’s windows. Not that there was anyone to notice – everyone knew to avoid the old house, especially at night, and especially during the Night of the dead. 

Even if there was, however, no one would question it. Not even the oldest could remember when this started happening, but it did happen every year, on the same night, the 31st of October.

The old mansion, whose gardens were long overgrown with wildflowers and bushes that had more spikes than roses, whose windows were covered with dust and spiderwebs, the mansion that once belonged to a wealthy German family, was just accepted as a forbidden place. There were no signs or visible threats, however, majority of those naive enough to try and live in this house went insane during the first few weeks. The others, who had the misfortune of staying till the 31st of October, were found the next morning with either uncountable small bites and no blood left, missing entire limbs, or unnaturally cold, even for a dead body, from what the doctors could only diagnose as a heart attack. Though they all shared an expression of pure fear and terror, that haunted those who saw, it for years.

However, I must admit, dear reader, that if you had the fortune of peeking through a window that night and leaving unnoticed, you would be pleasantly suprised.

Because all you would see, at least in this very moment, woul be two men, sat in a basement, drinking alcohol and laughing like old friends.

And don’t tell anyone, but if men are what fulfills your tastes, then these two would both look like two extremes on the multi-dimensional spectrum that is atractiveness.

The man on the left, yes, the one leaning against the table with a bottle of vodka in his hand, looked like a perfect mixture of everytime you saw a wanted criminal on the news, and your first thought was „He’s kinda hot“ before the rational part of your brain scolded you and drenched you with shame.

He was tall and rather well-built, dressed in a nice red blazer and a turtleneck. What did mess up this professional part of the look, however, were the camo pants and an ushanka, that was left untied, just sitting on his head.

If you came closer (and believe me, even seeing someone so oddly charming isn’t worth your left leg), you could notice a few strands of brown hair peeking from underneath the hat. His face had quite a few scars on it, and if you could tear your gaze away from those, you could see his light brown eyes. Try not to come too close, they can turn red pretty fast.

If you ever happen to get the misfortune of a conflict with this man, some of the details you might notice before your consciousness fades away are that you have never seen someone grow hairs in their palms.

The other man was the exact opposite.

You know that feeling you get when you open a fashion magazine, and for a few second, you just stare in awe at whoever is on the first page?

This doesn’t have to do anything with their gender and mayhaps you attraction to it (or a lack of), it’s just that aesthetic pleasure they give you.

But there’s something very cold and distant behind their smiles. Usually, it’s because smiling for the cameras is just their daily routine. 

People like him, they only have one thing to worry about – smiling. Smiling with their teeth, to be precise. You can get them filed down as much as you like, they always grow back.

The man sitting with one of his leg over the other has a day off today, proudly showing off those fangs as he down another glass of wine. The night’s still young, after all.

But he is not. Don’t be fooled by that wrinkle-lacking face with no imperfections, by those pruple eyes hidden behind a pair of stylish sunglasses, or those light brown locks that frame his face in a way that makes him look like an angel. He is far fromm that. And young he is really not.

Don’t fall for that luxurious suit or those designer low shoes, because as they say, „style comes with age“ and he really does have plenty of both.

„Is Konrad coming?“ the soldier asks, shuffling his pockets for a cigarette.

„He might just be stuck, it happens sometimes.“ the model looks at his watches, then shakes his head, leans back towards the giant staircase and yells:

„Konrad! Your beloved friends are here for tonight, did you forget?“

The painting behind him shakes, then does a one eighty and falls from the wall.

„Oh, he didn’t forget.“

If you weren’t used to that sight, you would be probably running away, shrieking. But if you had enough courage to look at the top of the stairs, you would see a pale figure, ominously looking you down with an unreadable expresision on their face.

„Hey there, Komra-Konrad. You want something to drink too?“ The soldier cheered, his Russian accent showing through in some words. 

Konrad’s icy expression calmed him down a little bit.

„I haven’t drunk in eighty years and I don’t plan on starting now.“

„Aight pal, come and sit with us.“ the model invited him.

„You interrupted my thoughts. Also, what does ,pal‘ mean, Warren?“

Warren hid his grin, moving a bit to make room for his friend to sit, ignoring his question.

„What were you thinking about? Or should I say, who?“

Konrad shot him a dead glare, but there might have been a bit of pink showing in his face. That’s a lot, considering he died 75 years ago, and hasn’t really regained much colour since.

Still though, there was some mysterious aura left around him that only enhanced his features. He had light blond hair and light blue eyes – that was hugely celebrated when he was alive, but now it only made him look more transluscent. He was wearing a white shirt and some dark trousers with suspenders, his hair combed back in a perfect manner.

Though, witnesses believe they saw blood and ashes on his clothes.

„Wait, am I missing something here?“ the Russian, Ilya, asked while reaching for another bottle of vodka.

„No, you are absolutely not-“

„Oh wait, you weren’t here yet! I heard Konrad moaning out some guy’s name!“

Konrad slammed one hand down onto the table and the door opposing them opened and closed with such force it made Ilya’s hat fall off.

„I. Was. Not. Moaning.“

„Are you sure?“

„I was having an… episode. I remembered… stuff.“

Warren‘s grin disappeared.

„Oh, are okay?“

„I don’t need your pity. And to clarify – Hans was just a friend, nothing more.“

„Wait,“ Ilya started, „Is Hans the one you…“

„Had to put down? Yes.“

Konrad’s companion suddenly got chills, and not just because their friend somehow made everything colder.

„He was disrupting the entire unit’s morals. Any other personal questions?“

There was silence.

Suddenly, they heard a knock on the door.

Warren’s eyes lit up.

„God, I hope this is another 14-year old girl. There’s nothing quite like a virgin’s blood.“ he whispered, jumping off the table.

„Do you even know today’s 14 year olds?“ Ilya chuckled, but could not deny that another naive, dumb kid would only be a welcome visit.

Him and Konrad could not see Warren opening the door, but they could hear his overly sweet voice inviting the stranger in.

„Oh my, you are soaked! Oh sure, you can absolutely stay here! Me and my friends were having a Halloween sleepover, you can join us!“

When he was back, he had his arm thrown around a young man’s shoulders. Or was it a woman? They were rather short and thin, and although they had short hair and wore boys‘ clothes, that didn’t really mean much nowadays.

But judging from Warren’s face, someething was wrong. Taking advantage of the stranger taking a good look around, he made a gesture that made him look like he was sniffing them, then shook his head.

There was something wrong with that person.

„Uhm, hello.“ they spoke shyly, their gaze wandering from Ilya to Konrad and back.

„Good night, young man.“ Konrad spoke, remembering what good manners were.

Ilya just sat there, frozen. Unlike the others, he had an idea who they were.

Warren pulled out a chair for the stranger to sit on, then hopped back onto the table.

„What is your name?“

„Bernie. Bernie Chomsky.“

„Alright, Bernie, listen. Are you feeling alright?“

Konrad smiled a little. This was his cue. 

He carefully moved his right hand, forcing the entrance door to shut.

„Uhm, sure.“

„That’s weird. How did you get here?“

„I... I’m not sure. I just woke up in… It’s a really weird story, actually. You won’t even believe me.“

„Oh don’t worry, we won’t judge you.“

Bernie scratched the back of their head, but when they brought their hand back, it was full of their dark locks. Their expression showed that this wasn’t the first time this happened.

„Have you ever gotten tangled in your own blanket while sleeping? And then panicked really badly when you woke up, unable to breathe or see?“

Warren nodded, Konrad exammined his nails while Ilya watched the kid with a newfound interest.

„Well, it was knd of like that. But when I finally got my head out, I was in a hole in the ground. Like a grave.“

„Oh, that hapenned to me once when I tried LSD, it was-“ Warren started, but was cut off by Ilya moving forwards to take one of Bernie’s hand and pinching his skin.

„This doesn’t hurt, does it?“ he asked. He didn’t hear a response, so he looked up to find Bernie staring at him, their face turning red in an adoring kind of way.

„Um, no.“

Oh crap, Ilya absolutely forgot how this probably looked.

„When was the last time you felt pain?“ Konrad asked all of a sudden.

„What sort of a question is that?“ Bernie asked, getting up from their chair, starting to slowly move backwards.

„Not since you woke up in the dirt, right?“ Konrad asked again, a manic smile starting to appear on his pale face.

Bernie freaked out, running to the door and trying to open it, but to no awail. It stayed locked.

Suddenly Konrad was next to them, banging on the door so hard Bernie shook a bit.

„How did you find this place?“ he asked, putting ohe hand on the side of Bernie’s head so he was now cornering them, and they got goosebumps from his icy cold breath touching their face.

„It couldn’t have been your own will…“ Konrad started, dragging one of his fingers along Bernie’s jawline, the stare of his eyes so intense they had to look away, almost paralysed.

„That’s enough.“ spoke a calm but firm voice with a tint of Russian accent. 

„…Because you don’t have free will anymore, Bernard!“ Konrad finished his sentence with his fist meeting the door behind Bernie, completely ignoring Ilya.

He smiled, one of his hands sneaking under Bernie’s hoodie, the icy cold fingers tracing his stomach…

Suddenly, a smear of dark purple grabbed the kid and unnaturally quickly moved them to the other side of the room.

„For hell’s sake, Konrad, what is with you?!“ Warren asked angrily, letting go of his grip on Bernie’s arm, motioning for them to stay back.

Instead of saying anything, the blond rose his hand, showing off the brown, chunky old blood on his fingers.

„Does this look fresh to you?“

Warren tilted his head, taking off his glasses and blinking twice. Then, he turned to Bernie.

„What was the last thing you ate?“

„A tide pod.“ they choked out.

Warren’s face fell in what seemed like disappointment, only to close his eyes and laugh from the dept of his heart.

„You little devil, you spooked me there for a moment!“ he smiled in the most charming way Bernie has ever seen. „It’s just a zombie, Konrad!“

„Yeah, I figured.“ Konrad growled, wiping his fingers onto the curtains.

„I’m a what?“

„Sometimes, your soul leaves your body but you still have enough energy not to die. Then you become a zombie.“

„What.“

„Or you die a really dumb death and you soul gets so embarassed that it leaves your body before you’re fully dead. What did you say, you ate a Tide pod?“

„It was a Tik Tok challenge.“

„A what?“ Konrad and Ilya asked simultaneously

„Oh, that is an app that kids nowadays use.“

„That sounds pathetic.“ Konrad scoffed.

„Are you also zombies?“ Bernie interrupted them.

„Do I look like some ugly, smelly zombie?“ Warren said.

„Not really.“ Ilya said.

„Ew, no!“ said Konrad, looking disgusted.

„Then what are you?“

„Were you this dumb even before your brain started rotting?“ Konrad asked, earning a glare from Ilya.

„At least they have an excuse, but what happened to you?“ Warren smiled innocently.

Before Bernie could even blink, the model was blown away by some invisible force so hard he hit the wall.

„Hey, don’t do that, what about my hair?“ a squeak came from underneath the pile of furniture that fell from the force with witch Warren hit them.

When the brunet crawled out, he smiled evily, pulling out a smartphone and blasting Cardi B.

This caused Konrad to start glitching, as if he were on TV, sometimes even turning grey.

„Stop that, it hurts!“ he screamed.

Ilya noticed that while all of that was happenning, Bernie just stood there, looking lost and confused ((I hope you all appreciate that Katerino reference)). Their face was drenched in dissapointment and even fear, looking a bit like an animal youngling that got cornered by a predator, and when it managed to escape, it found that it got lost, forever separated from what they once knew.

„It’s okay, you’ll get used to it.“

Bernie jumped a little, but then they turned to him and gave him a small smile.

„I guess. It’s just…“

„Weird?“

They nodded.

„At least it doesn’t hurt.“ Ilya smiled, pulling out a chair for Bernie to sit on, so now they were both around the table, facing each other.

„It hurts? Wait, what are you?“

„I-“

„No wait, let me guess.“ Bernie giggled, resting their head in their palm. „Show me your hands.“

Ilya reached out, trying to look away while the younger one studied his palms. He tried not to think about how his were almost burning hot compared to theirs. Bernie’s hands will only get colder and colder, untill they turn into a pile of rotten meat with no free will, guided only by hunger.

„You grow hair on your palms. You’re really warm. Your ring finger is longer than your middle finger. You’re a werewolf!“ they exclaimed happily, almost no fear in their brown eyes.

„Huh?“ Ilya quickly retracted his hand, confused. „How do you know all this? Even I didn’t know about the finger thing!“

Bernie laughed.

„I used to really want to be one when I was young. Ironic, isn’t it.“ their smile grew bitter.

„Well… Can you guess who the others are?“ he tried to cheer them up.

„Nah, not really.“

„Oh come on…“ Ilya pointed to the two, still fighting. „Look over there.“

When Bernie looked up, they noticed a huge, fancy mirror on the wall. Strangely enough, it only reflected Konrad.

„Warren is a vampire?“

Ilya nodded. „He’s super fast, doesn‘t have a reflection, has to wear sunglasses… And what about Konrad?“

„I don’t know…“

„I’ll give you a hint – If you are only a body with no soul, he is the exact opposite.“

„A ghost?“

„M-hm, a poltergeist, to be exact. I mean, you probably noticed he can move stuff even without a body…“

His words were punctuated by one of the lightbulbs cracking.

„How does that happen?“

Ilya sighed, leaning backwards on the chair.

„It’s… complicated.“

„So why not start from the beginning?“


	2. Ilya

,,In folklore, a werewolf[a] (Old English: werwulf, "man-wolf"), or occasionally lycanthrope , is a human with the ability to shapeshift into a wolf (or, especially in modern film, a hybrid wolflike creature), either purposely or after being placed under a curse or affliction (often a bite or scratch from another werewolf) with the transformations occurring on the night of a full moon."

Ilya walked down the dim, cold halls of the POW camp. He did not like it here. Well, at least he was there as a guest, not an inmate. Doctor Rogozov, a small, bald man in a lab coat, walked next to him, occasionally glancing at the clipboard in his hands.

The walls were moldy and the air was humid but cold. Each cell had an asigned number, along with a tag saying who the prisoner was and where were they from. The lights flickered more and more with each step they took.

Ilya looked straight in front of himself, trying to ignore the sometimes hateful and disgusted, sometime pleading and sometimes blank stares of the inmates. They were enemies of the Soviet Union, they were Nazis, the absolute scum on Earth. They deserved this.

They reached cell number 1922-91. Rogozov stopped, turning to Ilya:

„He should be tired and calm by now, but still, I want you to enter first. After you, Lieutenant Khrushchev.“ he smiled, the dim lightning making him look like the embodiment of evil.

Ilya allowed himself one glance at the tag on the wall.

,19271 Ernst Zimmerman. Senior Lieutenant in Wehrmacht, Nazi Germany‘. He couldn’t help but shiver. Ernst Zimmerman probably had a girlfriend or a wife, maybe even a kid or two. Parents. Grandparents. A dog, whatever. And now, all that was left of him was the number 19271 and a numb, barely living body, curled up in the back corner.

He shook his head and nodded at Rogozov. The doctor pulled out a pack of keys from his front pocket, unlocked the door and held it open for Ilya.

It smelled terrible there. Old blood. Infected wounds.

So that was Ernst Zimmerman. A malnourished, pale figure, once ginger hair (judging by the colour of his eyebrows) now shaved off, lips grey and skin covered in bruises and cuts.

Ilya could not help himself:

„Seems like the prison guards found themselves a punching bag, huh?“

It could be considered treason to say this. He knew. But he was also the most competent and devoted soldier they had. Lieutenant Khrushchev, known for saving pretty much an entire unit in Stalingrad. They could not just get rid of him.

Rogozov didn’t lash out at him – instead, he smiled.

„You do not understand – he did this to himself.“

Ilya froze.

„How? And how is he supposed to help our goal in this condition?“

Ah yes, their goal. The project that would ensure the Soviet Union’s long running rule and prosperity. Their soldiers will never face hunger, fatigue or fear again. The state would never face defeat again.

According to Rogozov, he found something, that would turn a weak man into an undefeatable soldier. Something the Nazis had, but didn’t quite know of. Or maybe they did, but something went wrong when they used it. Either way, Rogozov was confident he just discovered the cure to all weakness – including the moral kind. The soldiers would never doubt their orders, they would never contemplate not killing an enemy. No compassion, no mercy. Just blind trust in their leaders.

The plan was to inject this… serum, let’s say, into a prisoner of war, then brainwash him into following orders. That’s why Ilya was here, no? So if anything went wrong, he could swiftly kill their subject, or, if it went right, Rogozov would have a witness of his triumph.

Or so he thought.

The doctor carefully approached Zimmerman, telling him something that made the inmate open his bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, he was awake.

And looking at Ilya. Like a madman.

Then, everything happened in the matter of seconds.

Rogozov stepped back as Zimmerman lunged forwards. Right at Ilya. 

He was too strong for someone so thin and sickly. 

The lieutenant found himself on the ground, Zimmerman on top of him, growling like a wild dog.

The last thing Ilya remembered before darkness enveloped him was a pair of red eyes and unbearable pain in his shoulder.

He woke up in a few minutes. 

Zimmerman was gone – Ilya later found him in the corner, sedated and watched by a pair of prison guards.

There was a pounding, dull pain spreading from his shoulder through his neck, chest and head. He thrashed and turned on the ground, but another pair of guards held him down. Even they seemed to be struggling, and Ilya noticed he was stronger than he remembered.

He saw Rogozov kneeling over him. Smiling.

„I hope you are not mad at me for the little… trick I pulled – you see, I was not sure you would go willingly if you knew what the process actually looked like. But look – you’re here with us, still breathing! That’s why we needed someone like you, Khrushchev! Our previous subjects didn’t last an hour, they were too weak! But you, you are… something else.“

Ilya wanted to scream, to kick, to bite Rogozov’s face off. To tear his skin. He had never been so furious.

„Now, you will be strong. Deadly. Cruel. The soldier the state needs.“

One of the guards waved, and another man rushed to them, trying to pacify Ilya. Even they were suprised by his sudden strength.

„With the help of soldiers like you, we’ll crush them. All of them. The West. The Nazis. The Anarchists. The capitalist pigs“

Ilya nodded absent-mindedly, as if his body wasn’t listening to him. But there was a faint voice in the back of his head.

,You hurt me. Not the West. Not the Anarchists. This hurts. Make it stop.‘

„Shhh…“ Rogozv tried to calm him down. „No need to growl at me. It’s not even full moon yet.“

These two words paralysed Ilya. As if someone just injected pure fear into him. He had no idea why, but he felt his conciousness slipping away. Not that he was blacking out, it was more as if he was no longer of control over his mind.

„Now, we’ll need you to rest for a bit, so you can regain your strength. We’ll check on you later, alright?“ Rogozov smiled.  
„And together, we’ll crush the enemy. The ones that have hurt you.

‚You did.‘

He thrashed around more for a bit, then, he ran out of energy. As he lay there, staring at the flickering lights, he felt something else arise in him.

Not anger, not the need to kick and tear and punch and bite. This was cold fury. They took away everything he had – his free will, his humanity. They betrayed him.

The last thing he remembered, before he completely lost his conciousness, were Rogozov’s orders to another doctor Ilya couldn’t see.

„Write it down: Program Lycanthrope, test number 7. Time – 9:56. Subject name – Ilya Khrushchev. Transformation – succesfull. The subject displays the usual symptoms – headaches, can’t lay still, bloodshot eyes, uncontrollable anger. The canine teeth have already started sharpening. Expected time of the first transformation – 00:00, 21st May, 1945.“

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A group of people sat around a campfire. They looked like scouts, about fifteen kids and a few adults.

„…and then they found out it was her dead brother!“ a tiny blonde girl exclaimed, aiming the flashlight at her face in what was supposed too be a scary manner.

„That’s lame.“ a boy next to her complained. They looked very similar, probably a brother and a sister. Only he was a few years older, proobably thirteen or so.

„It’s not! Ilya, do you think it’s lame?“

One of the adults, a friendly looking man in a turtleneck sweater stopped nibbling on his steak and smiled at her.

„Of course not, it was cool. I haven’t heard that one yet.“

„Then you are lame too.“ the boy protested.

„Do you have a better one?“

„Of course. But this one actually happened, I found it online.“

„You just ruined the mood. We’re supposed to believe you, why would you say that?“

„That doesn’t change anything. Now be quiet.“

The boy took the light.

„I read that at the end of World War Two, the Soviets tried to turn their best soldiers into even better ones. Like, supernaturally strong and stuff. Werewolves.“

„That’s stup-“

„Anya, let him finish, I want to hear it!“ a girl next to him yelled. The boy grinned at her.

„But according to their archives, they messed up. They thought they could brainwash them, but the werewolf abilities made them too strong and resistant to that. They killed their guards and ran away. Some people think they are still out there, somewhere. Yeah, I don’t actually buy that. But it’s still scary, isn’t it? Like, the idea that they used people as lab rats. Do you think they tortured them, Ilya? Because if they did, I think they deserved it. Like, the scientists deserved to die, if they hurt others. Do you think so?“

Ilya smiled.

„I believe there are things that justify murder, like, let’s say, self-defense. But revenge? I don’t know. You are very empathetic if you can side with the werewolves.“

The circle got quiet, everyone was thinnking about what he said.

„Anyway, it’s really late and we are leaving tomorrow, so let’s get you at least some sleep, eh?“

The air was filled with annoyed mumbles, but everyone started getting up and going to their tents.

„Um, Ilya?“ someone grabbed the man’s sleeve.

„Yes, Dmitri?“ he asked the teenage boy. He was around sixteen, an older brother to most of the kids. Ilya genuinely liked him.

„I’m taking the first patrol tonight, so if you want, you can go to sleep.“

Ilya shook his head and smiled.

„You’re kind, but I will gladly do it. After all, the fire is still burning a bit, and I can’t eat this half-raw, can I?“ he pointed to his steak.

Dmitri smiled.

„No, you can’t. Goodnight, Ilya.“

„Night, sleep well.“

Ilya gazed ad the night sky. Among all the little stars, there was the moon. Waning crescent.

Dmitri was right. There was no need to eat raw meat now. He still had a few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way - a Russian doctor named Rogozov actually existed. You may have heard of him - he was at a station in Antarctica when he started having problems with his appendix, and as the only doctor nearby, he operated on himself and survived it! His story was later used for a ton of propaganda, but I still think he was pretty badass, don't you think?


	3. Warren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, he was by himself. The golden boy. The only one to survive. And for the first time since winter, he may had known why.

((This is a short interlude for you, @oOooooOooOOOO and @Nazbol. It may not quite fit the story, but the idea is too cute :) ))

„Ilya!“ Bernie shouted as they threw the frisbee across the garden.

Ilya tried to still. He really did. But in the end, of course he ended up chasing after it.

It was so absurd and Warren loved every second of it. It was nice to see his friend relaxed and having fun, as well as seeing Bernie grow more comfortable around them.

When Ilya brought the disc back to Bernie, the smaller one out of them two actually raised their hand and started scratching Ilya behind his ears. The Russian didn’t seem to mind.

„Can’t you at least turn into a dog or something? It just looks gay like that. And perverted.“ Konrad complained. Both him and Warren were hiding under a parasol, as well as a tone of sunscreen. Konrad „didn’t want to look to dark“ and Warren… Well, let’s just say that catching on fire is not an experience he wanted to repeat.

„Everything is gay when you’re non-binary.“ Bernie replied. „And everything is perverted when you’re a furry.“

„What’s a furry?“ Ilya asked, earning a wheeze from Warren.

„Um… Nevermind.“ Bernie grinned.

„What’s a non-binary?“ Konrad asked, but he was cut short by the frisbee flying directly through his torso.

„Shit, I‘m so sorry dude!“ Bernie yelled, but before they could come and get it back, Ilya already had it in his hands.

„Good boy!“ Bernie could not help themselves and stood on their tiptoes to pet Ilya’s hair. Konrad made a sound as if he were gagging, while Warren whistled at Ilya.

„Je savais pas que tu aimais ce genre de choses! Attention, ils n'ont que dix-sept ans!“ * he yelled and laughed at how embarrassed Ilya looked. They both hoped Bernie didn’t speak French.

„Fuck off, I’m not like you.“

Warren just grinned. Ilya didn’t know that, but besides bragging about seducing teenage girls, he stopped having one night stands with people. He only had one bad experience with that, but that was enough.

\-----------------------------------------

,,A vampire is a creature from folklore that subsists by feeding on the vital essence (generally in the form of blood) of the living."

Thirst.

Warren woke up. He felt thirsty, as if he had just ran a marathon.

Well, that wasn’t that far away from the truth, he chuckled and reached for his shirt.

It was rather early in the morning, but his companion had already left. That was strange, she left him alone in her bed, free to roam around her flat like he owned it. Maybe she was so naive to think a solidier would have some morals and wouldn’t completely rob her. Or maybe she was poor and there was nothing to steal.

To be fair, Warren wasn’t exactly looking around when she invited him in. He was busy with other… stuff. And you would be too, have you spent months in the trenches. After weeks and weeks of constant alertness, obedience and, to be fair – boredom, it was nice to just... relax. Let it all out. Meet a random French girl in the bar, tell her a few stories from the Western front, then leave together.

They must’ve had a lot of fun, judging by how sore his entire body was when we got up. Loads of fun. 

When he got dressed, Warren quietly walked through the small apartment, trying to find the girl he got so close to last night. But she was nowhere to be found.

When he walked by a mirror, he readjusted his collar. He didn’t need the funny looks his friends would give him with that bruise on his neck.

,She must’ve been fun‘, he thought as he ran his fingers over the small bite in the crook of his neck. You know what? To each their own. Biting was by far the least weird kink he had encountered over the two decades that was his life.

Shrugging, he left her a small note, hidden in her coat that was hanging in the hallway, then quietly left into the snowy streets. The little snowflakes dancing in the wind brought him a feeling of peace he didn’t even know he was missing. One of them landed on the tip of his nose and melted immediately.

The winter of 1914 was so pretty, had it not been for the war that was now looming over Europe.

„It will be fine, right? I will be fine…“

The boy couldn’t have been over nineteen, Warren thought. He had so much ahead of him, but here he was, laying in a trench near Ypres, helplessly presing the bandage to his stomach, as if it could somehow bring back the countless blood he has already lost. His big, green eyes looked at Warren with almost pious respect.

That was no suprise – after all, Warren was the „miraculous boy“ of their unit. He always healed so well, he was so fast… He was the moral support to his brothers in arms.

„Of course.“ he smiled.

But there was a bit of pain behind his smile. The thirst was back, stronger than ever. It always appeared when someone was injured – like that one morning in winter. At first, he didn’t think of it much, but it was starting to bother him. Because the thirst never went away with just drinking – it lingered on, for several hours.

And now, he has had just about enough. What could he possibly do? Was he sick? Should he tell someone?

As he scanned the surroundings, he eyes met the boy on the ground. It only got worse, but there was also something telling him ‚go ahead‘. As if the cure was near.

And then, he smelled the blood.

„Wh-What are you doing?“ the boy managed to get out when he noticed Warren eyeing him – or, to be precise, his wound – hungrily. Leaning down a bit, fingers grazing his stomach, smeared in blood.

When their eyes met again, the boy suddenly couldn’t move. As if he were paralysed. But not by fear, but by something else… As if he wanted Warren to go ahead with whatever he was doing. As if he were entranced by his gaze. Or was it his smile? Or something else?

The brunet smiled, barring his unnaturally sharp fangs. He leaned forwards…

„What the hell is that?!“ a voice suddenly shouted.

Warren immediatelly stopped, straightening himself, snapping out of that weird feeling that clouded his mind. What the hell just happened? The boy underneath him was looking at him with a hint of… desire, maybe? It was hard to tell because of the thick layer of fear and confusion it was covered by.

He turned around, only to hear screams of terror, confusion and anguish.

There was a weird cloud heading towards them. But it wasn’t just normal fog. First, it kept to the ground, filling the trenches on its way. Second… it had a disturbingly greenish colour.

It also smelled pretty bad. A bit like bleach.

Warren had no idea what it was, but it didn’t seem like just a friendly greeting from the Germans.

He quickly covered his face with his sleeve, but he could still feel the gas burning his skin and the inside of his nose.

He felt as if it was eating away some of his insides. And his skin. As if it was on fire, crawling off of his body, like paint peeling off metal. He couldn‘t breathe. He heard his compatriots screaming, yelling in agony and terror.

As he gasped, desperately gulping for some fresh air, his entire skin burning as if he was bathing in acid, the screams around him slowly died down. Until there was quiet, only his erratic breathing and coughing. Coughing up blood. His nails digging in the soil.

How much time has passed? Was it seconds? Minutes? Was it over? Maybe they were now safe.

He raised his head.

But all he saw were the corpses of his friends. His brothers, almost.

It was terrible. Since he got drafted, he had seen many of the soldiers die. Some of them he knew, some of them were enemies. But he was never alone.

Now, he was by himself. The golden boy. The only one to survive. And for the first time since winter, he may had known why.

He lay there. Waiting.

His mind was blank, his body almost lifeless, numb. 

His skin grew back. His nose healed, so did his lungs, apparently, because he could now breathe.

He felt no thirst, no hunger, no tiredness.

After a while, he heard noises. Voices. Words.

German.

He saw a group of men, all covered from head to toe, wearing some sort of a weird apparatus on their heads. Like a mask. It had a filter. They weren’t coughing up blood or throwing up their organs.

They talked some more, ran a few tests, by the sound of it, then, one them pulled down his mask. After a bit, the others did too. The wind blew the green cloud away, it seemed.

He heard a curse. One of the men cut his hand on the barbed wire.

Warren smelled blood. The thirst was back.

He felt new energy fill his veins and stood up. His body had healed perfectly.

He dropped his rifle. 

He won’t need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * = "Je savais pas que tu aimais ce genre de choses! Attention, ils n'ont que dix-sept ans!"  
> = "I didn't know you were into that sort of stuff! Be careful, they're only seventeen!"  
> (Sorry if it doesn't quite make sense, I relied heavily on Google Translator. Over three years of learning French, and all I know is "Excuse-moi, madame, je n'ai pas mon devoir". I think that's how it is.


	4. Konrad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> „Do you think there’s gonna be a war?“
> 
> „Probably. I hope so. Will you join the army?“ That was a pointless question. Every German boy wanted to.
> 
> „I guess.“
> 
> „What do you mean? Aren’t you happy?“
> 
> „What’s the point if you’re not there with me?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hans - Homonationalist

Ghost is an apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image.

„Come on, hurry!“ Hans yelled playfully, as he stopped to turn around and look at his friend. 

The other boy was struggling to crawl up the steep hill, his asthma gettting the better of him. He hated himself for this. God, he hated himself so much, and this was one of the reasons why.

His breathing difficulties were the main reason that he had no chance of ever joining the Wehrmacht. It was the biggest, most important thing that a teenage boy could do to serve the nation, and still, Konrad couldn’t even do that. Just because his lungs decided so.

Thankfully, Hans understood. He took a few steps towards his friend, helping him up. First by showing him where to step so he wouldn’t slip, then, slightly impatient, taking his hand and dragging him with him.

Konrad had a weird feeling in his stomach because of that. They were fifteen, most people would consider them too old to hold hands like this. 

But now they were alone. The forest was quiet in the morning, birds‘ songs filling the air. There was no need to hide, no need to worry what others might think.

It was just Konrad and his best friend, sneaking out on a Saturday morning of 1938, climbing the hill to get the prettiest view ever – their hometown slowly waking to life.

When they reached the top of the hill, Hans sat down on a fallen log covered in moss and patted the place next to him for Konrad to sit as well. When he did so, their thighs brushed together slightly and he tried to not think about that. Otherwie he would blush and Hans would make fun of him for the rest of the day. Asking him: „Why are you red?“, poking his shoulder, until Konrad would have enough, grabbing Hans‘ hand to get him to stop, only to realise what that could have looked like and dropping it quickly. That already happened a few times, and Konrad couldn’t help but feel warm when he remembered.

„So, why did you drag me here?“ he asked.

„I wanted to show you something, actually.“ Hans grinned, pointing to the left of them. „There’s a cave I found a few days ago, I thought you might want to check it out.“

„Awesome! But let’s wait for a bit, I want to stay here a little longer.“

Hans nodded, turning his gaze to the town below them. It truly was a beautiful sight. The grey smoke from the chimneys dissolving in the air, the cars crossing the bridge. The birds that would sometimes fly over their heads.

While Hans was poking some fungus growing from the tree they sat on, Konrad couldn’t help but admire his friend. They always looked very similar, since they were about seven years old, but now the differences had started to show. Hans was a bit shorter and his hair was a shade or two darker than Konrad’s, it had the same colour as honey, while his own looked a bit more like wheat.

Hans also had freckles, and Konrad was always jealous of that. He honestly never understood why Hans didn’t have a girlfriend yet, he was really good-looking. And really funny, too. And kind. He would always wait for Konrad whenever his asthma kicked in, always trying to calm him down. That wasn’t always so helpful, though, as he would always think that Konrad’s asthma attacks were caused by anxiety, so he thought hugging could help. Not only did it not help, but then Konrad also had to deal with his heart beating extremely fast.

Konrad shook his head when he realised he had just been staring at Hans for a solid twenty seconds. Thankfully, his friend didn’t notice.

„Shall we go?“ the taller blond broke the silence. Hans nodded and got up, brushing the pine needles and sawdust from his pants.

They walked for about twenty minutes until they arrived at the top of a rock.

„It’s just below us. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet figured out a more comfortable way to get there.“ Hans explained, leaning over the edge.

„Let me see.“ Konrad kneeled next to him, looking down. There was a little less than two metres of nothing, then more rock covered by a thin layer of sand. It made his head spin a little bit, the idea that he’ll have to jump there.

He leaned a bit further, to see if there was a way around it, but then he felt Hans‘ hand wrap around him and push him back. He looked like he was freaking out.

„You almost fell down there!“

„No I didn’t!“ Konrad protested, but took a step back. „Happy now?“

„Yeah.“ Hans sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side. 

„I’m not sure I can… I mean, it looks kind of… too high.“

„I’ve tried it already, it’s alright.“ Hans tried to persuade him, but to no extent. Konrad still shook his head.

„Or I could, you know… Go first and then catch you?“ he offered.

„And what if you don’t? I don’t want to break you.“

„Oh come on, you underestimate me. And overestimate your weight. We’ll be fine.“ Hans said, and before Konrad could protest, his friend had already leaped over the edge.

Konrad gasped, rushing to see if his friend was alright. He was, indeed.

„Told you it’s nothing. Come, I’ll catch you, I promise.“ he smiled, extending his hands.

„Okay.“ Konrad replied shakily as he sat on the edge. Then, he pushed himself off.

And Hans was right – he caught him just fine. It wasn’t even as high as it seemed.

His frend was now holding him in the air, arms wrapped around his waist and his hips. He put him down, feet touching the ground, but still kept his arms around him.

And suddenly, Konrad understood what the heroines in his sister’s books meant when they talked about ,butterflies in their stomach‘.

He could practically feel the blood rushing to his face and he wanted to hide it, but he wanted to see Hans‘ face more. When he looked up, he noticed that his friend was also looking at him, smiling a little. 

For a moment, he thought Hans was going to do… something. He would never admit it, but he even wanted him to. 

Then, Hans let go of him, stepping away a little, and Konrad felt just stupid. Hans was the best one the Aryan race had. He would never do something like… that.

„Let’s go, the inside’s really pretty.“ he gestured and Konrad could only nod, afraid that his own voice would betray him if he tried to speak. 

And Hans was right – it was, indeed, very pretty. To be fair, it was a regular cave, but something about no one else but them knowing about it made it special. It was not too big, but not too small for both of them.

„Snug, isn’t it?“

„Yeah.“ Konrad replied weakly, smiling.

They sat there for a bit, then they tried carving the swastika into the walls and talked about the news.

„Konrad?“

„Hm?“

„Do you think there’s gonna be a war?“

„Probably. I hope so. Will you join the army?“ That was a pointless question. Every German boy wanted to.

„I guess.“  
„What do you mean? Aren’t you happy?“

„What’s the point if you’re not there with me?“ Hans asked and turned to look away.

That kicked all the breath out of the blond. He wanted to say something, but didn’t know what.

Again, there was silence. Konrad looked at his friend, at his hands that were nervously playing with a rock he found on the ground. He had known him for almost ten years, he knew what was up.

„There’s something else you want to tell me, right? Or show me?“ he asked.

Hans smiled shyly, making sure not to make eye contact with his friend.

„Yeah.“

„What is it, then?“

„I need you to close your eyes.“

Konrad was a little confused, but did as he was told. Why did he have to? There wasn’t much light in the cave, so if there was a gift Hans had brought for him, he wouldn’t be able to see it anyway.

He heard shuffling as Hans moved closer to him. For a moment Konrad thought Hans had a spider in his hands and wanted to throw it under Konrad’s shirt, but even that didn’t seem accurate. Mainly because now, his friend was so close he could feel his breath on his lips.

Was he-?

Konrad’s line of thinking was cut short as Hans kissed him.

It felt good. 

His heart almost leaped out of his chest when Hans pulled away and he couldn’t quite see him, but he could feel his friend‘s breathing so close to him. His face was burning hot, he could tell even if they weren’t quite touching anymore.

Then, Hans pulled away, realizing what he just did.

„I-I’m so sorry, Konrad, please don’t tell anyone.“

A cloud that was blocking the sun moved, and Konrad could now see his friend’s face.

It was supposed to be a stab to bring him back to reality, and it was, in a sense – oh my god, what were they doing, this was illegal, this was wrong, or at least everyone told them that it was wrong, but what if everyone else was wrong? Because if Konrad ever felt like what he was doing was absolutely right, it was a few seconds ago.

Because he could now see Hans – his hair ruffled because of hs hands running through it, his blue eyes wide, but most importantly – his cheeks just as red as Konrad’s. 

It was adorable. 

He was allowed to do something bad, as long as it felt good, at least once, wasn’t he? He spent his entire life doing what everyone told him to, planning ahead, afraid of the consequences.

But no one could see them here. No one would know.

That’s right. No one would need to know.

„I won’t, I promise.“

At least some of Hans‘ worry seemed to go away.

He could do something he wanted to. At least this once. Here, in this cave, away from everyone else…

He made a step forward, at least as the cave allowed him to. He reached out, brushing his hand through Hans‘ hair, then trailing off to his cheek. He looked so handsome, with his hair ruffled a bit, his face with a tint of red.

As he leaned forward, Konrad thought: ,Just this once.‘

\--------------

Of course it wasn’t just once. Or twice.

Konrad cringed as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

,Nor was it always just kissing, huh?‘ an annoying voice in his head spoke. Through the years, that voice came to take a form that sounded a lot like Hans. When he teased Konrad about not having a girlfriend. When he laughed while they were wrestling on the ground in the forests. Not only did Hans always win, because he was stronger, but when he would pin Konrad down by pretty much sitting on him, holding his hands above his head, faces so close they could feel each other’s breaths, he knew what he was doing to him. He knew.

And he still did it. And enjoyed it.

And Konrad wanted to jump off a roof of the hospital because deep down, he knew he did too.

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be dragged into that degeneracy anyway.

,But it felt so good…‘

Yeah, so does getting black-out drunk and premarital sex. But both were a sin plus fucking disgusting.

„Doctor, there are new patients. One of them is in a really bad state, I know you are on a break, but please, could you-“

Instead of saying anything, Konrad simply stepped on his cigarette, got up and followed the young nurse back into the Lazareth. He noticed her smile when he did so. She must’ve liked him, it was obvious. She was always the one to go and get him if anything happened, always asking him if he also wanted tea.

She was pretty, there was no doubt about that. Too bad her dream husband, the „youngest doctor in the Lazareth, only 22 years old!“ was a fucking imposter. A faggot, that’s what he was. A degenerate. She deserved better.

When he took care of the most injured patient, a bullet through his jaw, poor guy, he heard someone call out to him in a raspy, tired voice:

„Konrad!“

He froze.

Even with years of cursing him, what did he do to him, he used to be so pure and now his mind was rotten, it still hurt to see Hans in such a state.

Someone must have put a bullet through his leg, his pants were soaked in blood, his face was pale.

„I’ll take care of it.“ he waved the nurses off. Then, he knelt down next to the hospital bed.

In a matter of minutes, he had taken the bullet out, cleaned the wound and bandaged it. It was the sixth year of war. They had little to no anesthetics left, and those were for extreme cases. So while he was operating, Hans was gripping the edge of the bed. Then, his hand found Konrad’s shoulder.

„Can I?“ he asked, puppy blue eyes staring at Konrad.

„Sure.“ he could not help it. It was because surgeries like this are painful, so anything that made Hans more comfortable was alright. 

When they were finished and Konrad was getting up to leave, Hans quickly caught his hand.

„Are you crazy?!“ the doctor whispered, looking around if anyone saw them.

„Hey, it’s okay. I have good news.“ Hans gestured for him to get closer, and then yelled:  
„When the war is over, I am getting married!“

It was as if someone punched Konrad’s stomach.

„Really?“

„Yeah, I met this one nurse, her name’s Anna, you’d love her….“

„That’s good, I’m happy for you.“ Konrad smiled. 

And he genuinelly was. Because if Hans could find a wife and live a normal life, so could he.

It was when he was going through the medicine cabinet that he realized what that meant.

Hans will have children.

And they’ll be just like him.

It was late at night. Everyone was already asleep.

Konrad was back at the medicine cabinet. When he was here before, he noticed a bottle of sleeping pills.

He carefully poured himself a cup of water and he let about a fistfull of them dissolve in there.

When he walked up to Hans‘ bed, everyone was still asleep. And he hoped it would stay that way.

„Shh, Hans…“ he whispered, touching his friend‘s arm.

Hans‘ entire body jerked from sleep, but he calmed down when he noticed Konrad.

„What are you doing here?“

„I brought you some medication. We had a little left, and I wanted you to heal properly. Since you are getting married.“ he grinned.

„Really? Thank you.“ 

Then, Hans propped himself up on his elbows, so they were now face to face.

God, he was still the same as all those years ago, in the cave. Hans‘ ruffled blond hair, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness because of the adoration in them. His best friend. He couldn’t do this.

„I didn’t get to tell you before, but I really have to now.“ Hans said.

„Huh?“

„I love you, Konrad.“

Konrad only smiled, caressing Hans‘ hand.

„I love you too. Now drink this, you will feel better soon.“

There. He did it.

He purged the Aryan race of one imposter that was trying to ruin its greatness. He will continue, and maybe one day, he will make up for what awful sins he himself has commited. What he just did was a neccessary evil, he saved Hans from a life of shame.

But there was no one to save him. He had to do it himself.

They sent him back to Dresden, to help the citizens there. And he was pretty sure it was also because since that incident, his hands started shaking uncontrollably. It made performing surgeries impossible, and it sometimes even woke him up at night. He could swear he saw blood on his hands when he woke up, but it was gone in seconds. He knew all too well, whose blood it was.

But that wasn’t going to be an obstacle in serving the Reich. He was a man. He’ll die a heroic death, protecting his nation. On the front lines.

That was the least he could do – he lived in shame, in fear anyone finds out what he did, what he thought of before falling asleep, what happened in his dreams.

But a heroic death could make up for that, right?

Konrad put down his book about Norse mythology, the one that… a certain someone gave him before leaving to joint he Wehrmacht. As a memory, Hans said. Now, more than anything else, he wanted to forget.

As he turned the ligths off and drifted to sleep, Konrad smiled a little. The Red Army may have been getting closer, but that only served his intentions. Tomorrow, he’ll join his fellow brothers in the fight.

Because it was his only chance to not burn in hell for what he did. 

This wasn’t the first time Konrad dreamt of the cave incident. 

Unfortunately though, it was the last time. 

Hans‘ blue eyes and angelic blond hair were the last things he saw before the first Lancaster dropped its load.


End file.
